The Struggles of Esther Wickham
by texasalicia1
Summary: Fresh off a personal tragedy, Esther, the oldest daughter of George and Lydia Wickham, realizes she must actively repair the holes in her personal and family life. (Takes place around 1830.)
1. Chapter 1

A Note: This is a middle chapter (I think) of a much longer story (I think) with a solid, defined storyline (I think). haha. Honestly, I only uploaded this because Diana asked me to. However, if you're _not_ Diana, I welcome you just as much to peruse my little scribblings. Originally, the five chapters as I've published them now are a single, 14-page Word Document. I separated them into 5 parts because when I open an FF story and it's just a gigantic wall of text, I immediately despair in a sea of TL;DR and click the back button. I hope you, unsuspecting reader, choose to press through the disparity of the TL;DR.

This is the story (all about how - my life got flipped - turned upside down-errmmpp I mean...) of the three daughters of George and Lydia Wickham, focusing on the oldest, sensible, introverted Esther, and her sisters: lovingly enthusiastic and compassionate Hazel, and busy twelve-year-old Agnes.

Tip: If you're finding it too wordy, try reading it out loud.

Please comment if you're so inclined and do other such things to respond and engage as the site allows.

-AC

* * *

On the morning of the ball, Esther regretted her decision to agree to attend. It turned out to be the hottest day of the year. There was no breeze. Everything about the weather and her feelings told her not to go. Only Hazel's smiling, innocent face could pull Esther from her bed. Her mother and Hazel had to take turns preparing her as she complained loudly that she would much rather go back to bed. She did not feel good. She was surely going to faint of heatstroke. Everyone would talk about her. She did not remember how to dance. She did not want to stand up with any gentlemen.

Hazel and Mama were so good to ignore every complaint and made her look presentable. Unlike a private ball, which were invitation only, and, by extension, the same people over and over again, nearly everyone was invited to an Assembly ball, and that offered an excitement in which Esther could not fathom being comfortable. Certainly she would not be able to work the crowd as usual in her cunning, almost cat-like stalk of prey. Instead of hunting, Esther felt certain she would be nothing but hunted.

That evening, the moisture in the air clung to her skin. She felt as if every inch of her skin was covering in a slimy layer of sweat. Every curl languished against the elaborate army of pins and ribbons in her hair, wilting in the heat like the plants. Hazel, after puffing her own sleeves, insisted on puffing Esther's, as they were pear-shaped instead of their usual round fluff. Her petticoat was not as full as usual—the heat tired it, too—and her stays strangled her. Outside, the horses lapped up water from the trough and the carriage drivers of rich families passed a bottle of liquor between them, cursing and jeering at the ladies. The smell generated from them overpowered the constant smell of horses.

The last thing Esther wanted, a rush of heat, hit her as she entered the Assembly Room. Everything about the Assembly Room felt warm: the flicker of hundreds of candles felt seared her skin like coals in hell, the heat of ovens baking _hor d'oeuvres_ in the kitchens and the heat of footman running in between the two rooms carrying trays and trays of steaming hot food and wine, the heat of hundreds of people crammed in like sardines. She was soothed by some rolling notes of a violin, the jangly music of the six-piece band, and the _click-click-click_ of the dancers' shoes on the worn wooden floor.

The rectangular dance floor composed most of the room, where light dress fabric of every imaginable color and print billowed and flashes of jewelry gleamed. The ceiling stood at least twenty feet high, supported by beautifully decorated walls and strong copper-colored columns.

The entrance doors were along one of the shorter walls of a rectangle room, to her right, huge windows that had been thrown open inviting a breeze. Along the long wall to her left, four doors lead to the food preparation areas and dining halls. Against the far wall sat the band in a neat semi-circle.

On the outskirts of the dance floor, chairs had been set up and circled as a location for gossip and observation, mostly filled by mothers and plain sisters in deep colored dresses and haphazard hairstyles, their fans furiously waving in an attempt for a breath of air. They stood or sat in small circles of four or five speaking animatedly or laughing at the funniest new joke. Their eyes roved over the crowd to find conversation pieces or reminders of the latest gossips. There was a serious lack of chairs for the number of people attending; as many people were standing as sitting.

As she walked into the main room, she instantly knew the Assembly had been too soon. Everywhere Esther looked, the noise and flashes of quick movement overwhelmed her.

The thought of the old protocol, the old rhythms of the Assembly Room made her uncomfortable, but as she thought of the alternative—not knowing, having no protocol—that gave her no comfort either.

Usually, she strode into the room with a hairdo that took six hours to complete, a dress that had been cleaned, pressed, and mended for a full day, skin that had been scrubbed and powdered, and a stomach that had not tasted food in a full day, and likely not to see much food during the actual ball itself.

Once inside, her father took off immediately for the card tables. Her mother took a chair and persuaded Esther to dance with every man she found the least bit handsome.

Just as her feet had blistered terribly and she had done enough of the initial flirting, she sat with her friends and gossiped about each man and the women with whom they were currently dancing.

Hazel saw any ball as opportunity to dance with every man she thought handsome and every man she did not think handsome until her dance card was full and she ached with every step the next day. Her beautiful delicate dancing shoes were consistently torn to shreds. Whether there was any new, exciting people or not, Hazel was enthusiastic that every ball was the best night of her life and would inevitably lead to a wonderful marriage for herself and Esther.

Each dance possessed an opportunity to meet a new gentleman, flirt delicately, and come home with new social prospects, new visits, new letters. Each night was different, a chance to do something or meet someone unexpected.

This night began no differently.

Her family, excited to finally be at their destination, broke apart without thinking and ran after their own personal delights: Hazel found a group of pinched and powdered debutantes and began speaking excitedly about things she would forget as soon as her head was turned, Mama ran after a servant with a tray of wine and a comfortable chair next to a good conversationalist, and Papa sauntered off to join a card game. Esther was fairly sure she was experiencing hyperventilation for the first time in her life.

Esther stood alone. Frozen. On the vestibule.


	2. Chapter 2

This night promised one thing—public humiliation and personal despair. The last time she had seen this place and most of its people, she was the object of envy and adoration. She walked with confidence and prosperity. Every girl shared with her friends Esther's triumph and whispered excitedly to her friends, which allowed Esther the opportunity to relive the fact that all her dreams were coming true. Every girl had a compliment, every mother a jealous eye. Esther's name was on everyone's lips, she was invited to all the most important parties. Girls eyed everything from the pieces in her hair to the shoes on her feet and memorized the print of her gown. It seemed like every light sparkled with a reflection of her spirit, the jewelry flickered because Mr. Turner's eyes flickered, and the upbeat music was written from the whims of her emotions. The servants bowed to her with newfound respect instead of exasperation, and the most important people in the Assembly made sure to pay their respects to her and see to her every need. The whole world revolved around her, the whole world respected her, the whole world cared what she said and laughed at every joke.

How she had been blind. With a hurricane in her soul, the world still moved on without her. The lights flickered brightly. The people forgot her and spoke with reverence of others. They did not care, they did not comfort her. Every girl shared with her friends the scandal and the shame Esther experienced. The mean ones laughed at her and moved on to some new topic, some new pitiful creature, some other dog to kick. The nice ones felt pity for her and changed the subject. Mothers warned their daughters of what they were sure caused Esther to lose Turner—whatever the reason they had conjured up in their minds.

In the Spring, she had felt so much at home in a place so animated, like it was a very expression of her inward emotion—now she could not feel more out of place, like a ghost, a shell walking into a room bursting with life. Not a person acknowledged her. Not a seat was empty for her. She felt rejected even by the furniture. In a room filled with people, loneliness overwhelmed her.

Locked standing in the foyer of the Assembly Room, the crowds entered and flowed around her like she was a rock in the middle of a river. Esther tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry it burned. _God, help. _The first step was the hardest.

Her mind drifted back to _Hazel's voice calling through the dining room and the smell of wood stain and faint perfume. Esther had hidden in Mama's wardrobe, being as quiet and still as possible, mesmerized by the dust motes float in the slither of sunlight that snuck through the cracked door. Here, she was dark, safe. She could be hidden away with her own thoughts, no one to bother her with lessons or talking at all, free to think and process. Burying herself in the familiar dresses of Mama's wardrobe, she closed her eyes and felt at peace. She almost forgot she was playing a game._

_Suddenly, the door opened. Hazel, her curls bouncing, yelled triumphantly, "I found you!" With a tug, she grabbed Esther out of the wardrobe._

Trapped in her present spot offered only heaping self-guilt, so she put one foot in front of the other, wandering aimlessly into the sea of space and people. She looked around, but she could not find a more favorable sight ahead. Head down, trying to blend herself into an ever-moving canvas, Esther weaved, almost danced, between swirls of dresses, glasses being raised, snippets of conversation from every direction and class of people (_They'll let just anyone in the Assembly Rooms nowadays_, she thought.) Everyone who noticed her and thought to themselves, _that pale, sick-looking thing, is that Esther Wickham? _looked again and found her gone.

About her second time around the floor, she realized her method for not being noticed by anyone more likely resulted in her being noticed by everyone. _Not even my escape mechanisms succeed._

Tired of actively avoiding the festivities, Esther tried staying in the corners of the room and the darker spots where the Assembly workers had not as many candles as they should to completely get rid of the darkness.

From a spot leaning against the deeply brown wooden wall, she thanked a servant and took a glass of wine, watching and listening to all around her: girls adorned with ribbons and men with metals, whispers of fortunes, flicks and swoops of fans, curtsies and curt replies….It was all such a bore. The constant dribble of noise nearly put her to sleep. Desperate girls and conceited men flung themselves at each other in order to feel accepted. Marriage and money: the ultimate accomplishment, the thing to save families from ruin. So many families, so many players. Esther felt lost in it all. She felt as if she was drowning within the game. No wonder her mother had thrown it all away to marry her father, although it had not exactly meant happiness for either of them.

A middle-aged man in a dark coat looking rather full of himself bragged to a younger man, puffing his chest out to overshadow him. "…plantation in India producing forty…"

The daughter of the miller and the son of a farmer who lived down the lane from the Wickham house escaped through a door leading elsewhere in the building. No one but Esther seemed to notice. She looked around; said miller was dancing with, and giving a longing expression to, the banker's wife, Mrs. Adams. Mrs. Adams smiled at him deviously.

A high-pitched voice with the weakness of age: "…a violently green frock becomes any woman in the summer," an older woman in black matter-of-factly told a girl of twenty whose eyes were fixed on a pack of Navy officers. Esther followed the young woman's gaze. _And _such _a pack of Navy officers._

"I shall never understand the ladies' preference today for wide skirts and sleeves. One can hardly dance. What say you, niece?" The old woman managed to break the concentration of Esther, but her intended recipient remained steadfast on the officers. The old woman was displeased to receive a disinterested _hmm_ in return for the comment that she clearly intended to amaze the young woman.

A fast, excited young voice, full of inexperience: "Mr. Hughes, an estimated fifteen thousand a year and an estate in the north…"

"My steward suggested building a new fence along the creek south of the property, but the expense was so egregious I told the man he was at liberty to choose another farmhand to hire or the south fence. He dropped the matter straight away, I assure you…" A man smiled at another, and turned his attention to a devastatingly beautiful girl who wore a lavender dress. "My, my." Obviously he was unfamiliar with Ms. Sparr. She was betrothed to the heir to the Warton money. Esther never could remember his name; she only remembered his disgusting set of wooden teeth.

A middle-aged woman sat in the chair a little ways from Esther, drinking at least her third glass of wine and paying far too much attention to the glass itself. _Is that…goodness, Mrs. Abbott…it is indeed._

Esther decided she had lurked in this particular corner and began moving to her left.

Two younger girls brushed past her, one chasing the other: "—my fan. You give it back now!"

Friends of her mother's, Mrs. Anderson and the Colonel's wife, a vain woman who Esther knew had come from a dirt-poor family in Wales, walked toward her, circling the room to see and be seen. "…Sarah cannot perform her duties, she must be let go, I told him, and you know, he is altogether too agreeable to—Good evening, Miss Esther—too agreeable to send the girl on the streets. My, if that Wickham girl does not smile, she will never get another beau, despite her handsome face…"

"That one," said Mr. Williams playfully to a man slightly younger, pointing to a girl in pink dancing, "All you have to do is get her alone and swear you love her and you will marry her as soon as your rich uncle in India sends you money…"

"…was against it from the start, and he makes my skin crawl, mama!" pouted a girl in a bright pink dress.

"More wine, miss?" –applause as the melody ended. The band began a slower, more romantic tune. Esther took a glass, placing her old glass on the tray.

"As soon as my father approves, Tom, we can be married."

"…my darling…"

"Begin as many wars with the French as necessary," said Mr. Hawkinson, a red-faced middle-aged man from the North visiting his cousins to escape taxation or imprisonment, to a crowd waiting to see what idiotic thing he would accomplish next. "As long as the wine supply never ceases—oh, how'd y' do, miss?" The crowd laughed a little too hard and made the general comments in agreement. He bowed his hat at Esther and looked at her greedily. Esther could not suppress a slight recoil away from him. He moved on, unaware.

Turning to one side, she saw Mrs. Simmons, the wife of the town's attorney, just sitting down in a chair near her. She must have just arrived and volleyed her one daughter, a plain girl of seventeen, to a suitable dance partner. Her mother maintained a loose friendship with the family, although how it exactly started, she was not sure. This was just the opportunity Esther was looking for to disappear into the background of the festivities. Chairs haphazardly littered all sides of the room for tired ladies and those older who came for conversation and spectacle rather than dancing.

The wind changed and warm breezes forced her to abandon what was becoming a conspicuous spot. She sought refuge near the other side of the room. She sashayed her way through more her side of the room. A young man or two looked in her direction and bowed at her. She kept walking, more frightened than she felt she should be.


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Simmons, a beautiful olive-complex woman about her mother's age, had arrived too early or said too much already, because she was sitting alone, mesmerized by the waves and movements of the dancers. Esther approached her and curtsied. "Mrs. Simmons, how lovely to see you" –a complete lie, but she would have been offended by the truth of _I do not really know you, but your familiar face comforts me and I remember you were a calm person, not threatening in the least, and your company would keep me from a strong urge to throw myself into the river or the wine vat._ "And may I inquire after the health of your family?" _I care not in the least for your family's health, but this is the standard way to approach you and my eyes are begging you to ask me to sit down._

"Miss Wickham, my dear! My family fares well. Please have a seat." Success.

The woman lacked the harsh, pride-filled judgmental eye that most of the women over thirty-five possessed. Nevertheless, old cultural habits die hard. Mrs. Simmons looked over Esther from the knot of her hair to the buckles of her shoes. "You look lovely. I trust your mother is here?"

"Yes. You know Mama. She has not missed a ball since she was a young girl." Esther relaxed a little. Mrs. Simmons gave a knowing chuckle.

The pleasantries continued nicely. They talked about the ball, their favorite dresses of the evening, and funny stories about the Simmons' children. Esther almost forgot she was using the conversation to hide from the world. Mrs. Simmons was kind to pretend to be ignorant of her situation. She was full of compliments to Esther and her family, and did not once mention Hazel and Mr. Turner.

Along the way, Esther saw a few family friends that she was required to make pleasantries toward.

Biding the women adieu, she was instantly spotted by Hazel, who hurried over to her, took Esther's hands in her own, and overjoyously exclaimed, "What a ball! My darling Essie, why do you look so sour? And you have not danced with a single young man yet! My word! I would not waste that outfit languishing in the back with the old women! [The old women huffed at such a statement and flurried their fans faster.] And as I made up half your hair, I feel terribly responsible towards you tonight and I must see to it that you dance with every agreeable young man in the room and even some of the unagreeable but rich ones. And perhaps, if there's still time, the thoroughly scandalous ones—Come!-We must find someone to dance with you! To the floor!" Hazel's light hold on one of Esther's hands clamped down to a grab and Hazel began pulling her sister through the room, darting between the pressing crowds like a fish in a crowded pond.

Hazel's curls had managed to stay lively and her striking white dress billowed as they weaved through the crowd. Esther noticed several men turning curiously toward her and, recognizing who it was, forgot their sudden interest and turned back to their own parties. Esther felt proud that her sister had the ability to turn so many eyes, but distressed that Turner's pair of eyes had followed suit.

"Him?" Hazel said, gesturing with her fan to a very handsome man in his late twenties. His bright blue eyes matched his coat.

"You know he is engaged to Miss Burke." _Otherwise, to be sure, I would._

"Miss Burke! That hag?" Hazel dropped her fan; it caught by the white ribbon around her wrist and dangled.

"She is rich," Esther said with a shrug.

Hazel began her searching a bit less conspicuously over Esther's shoulder. "Of course she is. That is the sole reason hags acquire husbands."

"They must marry someone, I suppose. If they must be hags, better they be rich hags."

"Or, simply, less hag-like. Esther, what about Mr. Heaston? He has liked you for ages."

"And he will adore me for ages more, because it would never happen. I—I don't believe he is very attractive." _Meaning, he is disgusting. And he looks at me awkwardly. And he laughs with too many of his teeth showing. And he is always trying to accommodate my every whim whenever we are in the same vicinity. And I am fairly certain he once tried to smell my hair. _ Esther gave a slight shiver.

_And he's not Turner._

Clearly Mr. Heaston was the only decent dancing partner Hazel could see from her particular vantage point, because she grabbed Esther, pulling her out of her cloud, and spun her to switch places, and began peering over her shoulder at the new crowd of men.

"Mr. Clarke."

"Too old. God, he is friends with Papa." _Which also means that he's too addicted to his drink and cards to love any woman the way he should. _

Hazel brightly and excitedly scanned the crowd, looking over elaborate hairdos and perching on the tips of her feet. She pulled Esther into a quick walk. "There's dear Mr. Phillips—no woman will ever want him, but he tries—Mr. Black—he's far too poor and acts richer than us all but no one seems to be falling for the charade tonight—The Wilson Brothers—the only bad thing about them is that it is illegal to marry both of them, but I would say yes to the first brother to ask me…that is, if not for Mr. Turner, of course."

_Mr. Turner. My Mr. Turner_, Esther rolled in her mind. A pain shot through her. Suddenly, Esther was in less of a mood to dance, although a minute ago, she would have declared it impossible. She acutely felt hollow inside—maybe Hazel had simply made her notice her already-existing holes. Nonetheless, channeling the pain into resolute defiance, she halted, nearly throwing a still-walking Hazel to the floor. "Esther? What ever is the matter?"

"I do not wish to dance. Please do not make me. Just allow me to sit amongst the ladies. With mama or the others."

Hazel saw the seriousness in her sister's face and deadness in Esther's beautiful eyes, and dropped her smile. She patted Esther's hand, still within her grasp. Esther truly did not care to dance—perhaps she had pushed her too much—her sister always did act thirty even as she wore a body of nineteen. Hazel longed to see a jovial expression upon her sister's face. It was altogether too sad for so young and beautiful a lady, especially around so many attractive men. And she really had done a fabulous job on that hair; it must be showed off. She must use her tricks to coax Esther into dancing tonight.

She thought hard and looked around the room, and speaking into her sister's ear, said, "Sit with the ladies if you must, but these ladies are so contemptible they will call over every young man until your dance card is full. They care for matches and marriages, not happiness. Let me introduce you to some fine gentlemen with whom I have recently come into society, and you can judge whether they are worth the blisters on your feet or not." Here, Hazel gave Esther such a caring, concerned look as Esther swore she had never seen from her sister.

_He is ruining this ball and he is not even present. I will not let him destroy nights for which he is too cowardly to even show his face in my presence. _

Esther sighed. She knew Hazel spoke truthfully—calculated, but truthfully—and placed her happiness and her other hand in her sister's grasp. With tired eyes light with new opportunity, she said, "Very well then. Introduce me."


	4. Chapter 4

Hazel looked over her sister's dress and hair, adjusting a curl, fluffing the sleeve, and shook out her dress as it had become flat in the back from standing against a wall. She pushed back her sister's shoulders—but something of the confident air that brings people's respect was still lacking.

"You look beautiful, Esther. Every man in this room will be lining up to dance with you. You are a powerful woman with a strong character, and meek and gentle when you want to be, as every woman should possess. If you do not end the evening with at least three marriage proposals, you can have my jade earrings."

"Truly?"

"No. But bat your eyelashes enough and I am sure of three proposals from any number of men who are able to buy you jade earrings."

"I would rather have _your_ jade earrings."

Hazel spun Esther around and caught her by the shoulders, pointing to a handsome gentleman with her fan. "You'd _rather_ have that man over there—with those soft eyes and the strong chin. He is the cousin of those stand-offish Emmerson people who think they are too good for society."

_He is quite handsome…perhaps… _Esther thought. But then her shoulders became heavy again and the thought of exerting energy simply to ensure someone thought she was pleasant seemed exhausting. "In fifty years, he'll be dead, but the jade earrings will still look beautiful."

"Be quiet and let me introduce you to that woman, his sister, whom I met when I ran into Sally Emmerson in the milliner's shop—with any luck she will introduce us to him!"

"You promised to introduce me to single men, not overprotective and catty sisters."

"With your state, it is a wonder you are being introduced to anyone other than the carriage drivers. Now hush, she moves this way—Miss Howard! I daresay your maid performs artwork with your hair! It is so pretty!" The lady looked a little shocked to be spoken to, and clearly from her face, it took a few seconds for her to recognize the eager Wickham girl she had been introduced to in the milliner's shop. _Wickham…what did Cousin Sally say about her? Oh yes, she stole her sister's beau. Wonder if that would be the exact sister._ To Hazel's opening, she could say nothing but thank you.

Ms. Howard's brown hair held a hairstyle that no one being truthful would call extraordinary. The knot in her hair was simpler than the one Hazel had performed in Esther's hair, but it still suited her well. She was so lovely she did not need elaborate hairstyles. The lady was blessed with wonderfully smooth skin, which highlighted her and chocolate brown eyes. She wore a lilac printed dress, and she had the largest puffed sleeves Esther had ever seen in person, and in pictures, outside of the royal family.

Not wanting to be outdone by even the richest of catty sisters, Hazel immediately jumped into, "I have some skill and accomplishment with hair myself, and while being quite rich enough to afford our own ladies' maid, my sisters and my mother often call upon me to make them look at their best. Take Esther here for an example. She is so handsome not much has to be done to make her look exquisite. On this occasion, however, I felt a truly elaborate hair style would show off her features. Do you not agree, Miss Howard?"

Miss Howard had nothing to say in return, so she feigned interest and replied with "How incredibly lucky of your sisters and mother to have you, Miss Wickham." _Vulgar. Truly vulgar. No—pretentious. If the lady is as pretentious as the hair, I would rather be thrown into the water trough than talk to a too-eager girl and her older sister who thinks she hung the moon. Perhaps that is the reason her most recent beau rejected her. _

Esther nudged Hazel; she had forgotten a formal introduction. "Miss Howard, this is my eldest sister, Miss Esther Wickham. Esther, this is Miss Lilly Howard. She is the cousin of the wonderful Emmerson family that we cherish so dearly."

Esther gave a little curtsey. _Please, God, do not make me talk to anyone related to the Emmersons for more than five minutes. If I am still here in five minutes, I will jump out that window. Alright, game face. I am lovely. I am wanted. I am an exceptional conversationalist. I have wit and taste. Everyone wants to be around me. _ "Miss Howard." The lady reciprocated. Esther's eyes turned to scan the general crowd. "How do you do? How do you like the ball?"

"I am not as used to coming to the public balls, but as we know little society in this town, it is a good way to see the people who live here."

"And how do you find our common folk? We could dust them off if you find yourself dissatisfied with them." Esther's politeness was wholly intact, but the joy in her voice was missing. Lilly took Esther's complete lack of liveliness as a dry sense of humor, and her favorite people always had a dry sense of humor. Lilly found it endlessly amusing.

"They are as common as they are in Weypark, I assure you," she said with a bit of a laugh. She found Esther more tolerable than Hazel. Esther's manner was not as pretentious as the hairstyle she wore, and now that Hazel had told her it was her artwork, Lilly understood why. Hazel wore her vibrant vigor on her face and confessed it in her speech. Esther had restricted vigor to her eyes and intelligent conversation.

They began politely chatting about travel, the weather—the safe topics. Esther still found it difficult to hold a conversation at all, but the lady was polite and lively enough that Esther did not have to fight herself to speak.

Hazel apparently felt as if the two ladies were excluding her from the conversation. _Impress the sister, impress the gentleman. Esther and Mr. Howard will be in love by September. Wedding in December, family Christmas at whatever estate he owns in whatever part of the country he is from. Compliment the sister. _"And, Miss Howard, this is a lovely dress you have here. I particularly like the details of your sleeves."

Miss Howard seemed instantly bored. _Can young women talk about anything else than fashion and hair? I suppose the only thing to talk about when you have not lived is what you wear while you wait for things to happen._ "Thank you, Miss Wickham."

"Is your engagement in town a long one?" _Esther saves the day._

"We have not decided. The Emmersons are so kind, of course." _Those dreaded cousins. God, I hate every last one of them and their smug remarks. We are four times as rich as they are and one would think they were the royal family by how they expect to be treated. They speak with pride of a title they are forbidden to inherit. If only I did not need a husband so badly because of the dreaded Silas situation. _"As it inevitably goes, my brother John and I have met all the people in our own town, and must now go to another to visit our cousin and meet everyone else's cousins."

Hazel saw an opportunity and said something that reminded Esther of her Grandmamma Bennett: "Oh, we are very well acquainted with the principle people in the town, and we have a fair amount of cousins, I assure you!"

Esther laughed. Miss Howard had the gift of being frank and observant without offending people. "Ironically, I do have a cousin in Weypark. However, as she is a distant cousin, I do not remember her name. She is the daughter of Mr. Owen Lloyd."

"Miss Sarah Lloyd. A charming girl. Mr. Lloyd is an acquaintance of my father." _And for an older man, dashing. The girl is common enough._

"The very one. How remarkable." A slight lull in the conversation. The floor suddenly became very interesting. Esther resumed it with: "And how does your brother find the town and its people?"

"Indeed. We find the town here particularly charming and the people very respectable indeed. Even the common folk are well kept and dusted regularly."

Miss Howard and Esther shared a giggle. Hazel laughed a bit too hard.

Miss Howard ignored Hazel and continued. "We are particularly fond of the beautiful country here. However, we have not seen much of the town yet. What is your suggestion for activities?"


	5. Chapter 5

As Esther and Miss Howard quickly became best friends, as young ladies are apt to do when they meet other young ladies, Hazel slid her attention to the dance floor. Unlike many of the younger ladies, they did not bond over a fondness for a certain type of dress print, or French vs. English style, or immediately share every secret for getting their hair to look just as it did. They bonded over travel and books they had read. Their giggles were not about the people in the room, but over jokes that referenced French history. Hazel's eyes became fixed on the shoes moving up and down on the floor. She had nothing to say.

Hazel perked up from an attention coma at Mr. Howard's name. "And Miss Howard, last time we met, you promised to introduce the rest of your party and you have not yet kept your promise."

What was lifted of Esther's mood sank immediately. Men were not as easy to be around as women, even though it pained Esther to be around anyone beside her own family. A single man of marriage-able age seemed unfathomable. _God, what if he asks me to dance? What if they know my story and judge me the entire time? Worse—what if they do not know and ask some horribly embarrassing question? Can I sit down right now? Am I beginning to feel light-headed? Is this what light-headed feels like? Oh, God. I just will not say anything. I am not fit for it. Perhaps he will get the idea I do not want to be spoken to. I will stare into my wine glass—I don't have a wine glass._

Miss Howard dryly said, "Oh, yes, that is right. Let me see…John went off to dance with Cousin Julia…yes, there they are, speaking with my Uncle. Stay just here. I will fetch him."

Lilly left the two girls in search of her brother. The older one she felt would become a great friend, and the younger one seemed less abrasive than a normal girl of her age and society would generally be. _There is my Aunt. I will inquire after these girls with her. _She steered out of the sight of the two girls and put her hand on Aunt Charlotte's arm. The Aunt looked up from what was clearly a harsh judging moment directed at some unknowing girls in cheap dresses. "Aunt, do you know the Wickham girls? Quickly, tell me of them."

"The Wickhams? Yes. Father gained some wealth from managing businesses earlier in his life, (enough to spend the day gambling it all away,) the mother not worth a minute of your day, but the two older girls (one is still in the nursery) have found their way into some sense of society, despite their upbringing (a dangerous trend, and I don't like it, if you ask me). The older Miss Wickham was attached to a rich merchant by the name of Turner (a textile fortune of course, God, these people) and every one thought he was going to marry her, but his affections changed from her to the younger Miss Wickham, and they are now engaged." Mrs. Emmerson almost recited the assessment as if she had written a Burke's Peerage for all the people of Attlebrough. _And that Esther Wickham, getting more wine—God help her if she turns out like her mother, the poor pathetic soul._

"Thank you Aunt. I must fetch my brother." Miss Lilly curtseyed.

Mrs. Emmerson could not help herself as she watched her niece walk away:

_Miss Lilly Howard, second daughter, third child, of The Honorable Mr. James Howard, second son of The Right Honorable, The Lord of Launceton. Father a respectable judge. His wife: a pretty daughter of a not-important baronet. Brother: Mr. John Howard, followed his father into law, now a lawyer in London. As for the daughter, rumor of a scandal with a local boy, but she was whisked away before anything serious came of it. No serious marriage prospects._

Mr. John Howard stood swirling a glass of wine in a small group with four people: his Cousin Julia Emmerson, his Uncle Emmerson, and two other people whose names he had neglected to remember, but who seemed friendly enough. They were talking about Italian islands, or something. He could not quite remember, nor did he care very much. He had never been to them, and the Italian zeal for life and willingness to give into life's urges brought out the stuffy prude in him, so he had no wish to travel there. He certainly would never be caught dead in such an Epicurean place by anyone of society. He pushed a lock of dark hair out of his eye with his free hand and checked his pocket watch.

He felt a hand grasp his elbow, and he turned around to see Lilly. After making the deepest apologies, she said, "I have foolishly promised to introduce you to a chit and her demure older sister. Please come and at least say hello to them, for I suspect all they require is a good story to tell all their girlfriends tomorrow when they met to talk about tonight."

John turned his head toward her, pocket watch still in hand. "You always say just what you are thinking."

"Never fear—it is a disease that does not infect many. And I only speak my mind to family. I do not understand why family deserves such airs. Once you have tended to a person when they are desperately sick, curtseys and 'ma'ams' seem so out of place." She tugged his sleeve in the direction of the Wickham girls and, giving a slight nod to his present party, he followed his sister.

Looking over his shoulder, he realized none of them had so much as noticed his absence. "You never tell the Emmersons what you really think of them."

"I simply smile at them; they wish me to worship them."

"And these girls I am being dragged like a lamb to the slaughter to meet: what do they wish of you?"

"The younger one wishes me to be a conduit for introductions to you or a few of your single friends, and then step out of the way. The older girl is a bit harder to read. She seems to want nothing."

John smiled. "That is impossible."

"You also know me to be an impeccable predictor of character, however, I simply could not read her. You must judge for yourself."

Hazel, upon seeing Mr. Howard up close, drew into a very low curtsey. Esther nearly forgot to curtsey and gave a simple awkward one. Lilly made introductions.


End file.
